Rumors
by Aurorax
Summary: Wyldon will do anything to protect the ones he loves. But how much will it cost if the rumors are true? Written for SMACKDOWN at fiefgoldenlake dot proboards dot com.


Written for SMACKDOWN Team Wyldon at fiefgoldenlake dot proboards dot com.

* * *

The Scanran winds blew secrets, a phantom cry of blood and death whistling from lips of ice. It was dark as anything but never silent, the night full of rustling canvas and rustling leather and that incessant howling wind. A lifetime on the road hadn't been enough to teach Wyldon the soldier's trick of sleeping through anything; it made one vulnerable, open to surprise attack, and if there was one thing he feared it was being caught at a disadvantage, never having the chance to fight and die with honor. But what was that noise, something different than the ordinary night-sounds, encroaching on the midnight peace with a jarring wrongness?

The world came alive at the sounds of the trumpet call, full of sudden pulsing motion like a spark to the flame. Hands groped for weapons in the darkness, wiping bleary tears from their eyes as the magelight exploded into existence overhead, throwing the camp into harsh prismatic relief. It had been three months since the last attack, three months of waiting for the last scrap of Scanran army to make their final stand. It had been a hard war, harder than any he'd ever fought in, and its toll could be measured in the slumped shoulders and downcast eyes of the men unlucky enough to have been stationed on the border until the end. Most companies had been reassigned, with only this last outpost left to bring the war to a final close, just a formality really. One more day, one more battle, and all this would be over.

Wyldon slipped out silently, threading through the chaos unseen; he wanted to take a moment to scout the situation for himself before giving any orders. The approaching party was small, only fifteen men visible according to the horncalls of their advance sentry, the last tattered remnants of Maggur's grand army. Wyldon had three squads of army men and one of convicts under his command, plus a group of ten younger knights, the last he had trained. Still, the Scanrans had laid traps before, and they would need to be careful; he wasn't about to lose anyone tonight. He scanned the land that opened up before the tents, trying to make out the enemy in the distance and letting a plan of attack develop in his mind.

"Where's the Lady Knight?" Confused shouts broke through his concentration. Many of the soldiers were green, replacements for those who had been lost during the heavy fighting of the previous year, and they milled about in a panic, unaware of the newest development. Wyldon heard Merric's deep voice calmly attempting to restore order, and Neal's wry drawl reminding the men that they were trained fighters, not a troupe of Players. As he walked past the row of tents, he saw two figures hidden in the shadows. He recognized the curly head of his ex-squire, and next to him was Keladry, clad only in a blanket with a naked sword in her hand. Even in the dim light he could see the blood burning in her cheeks, normally contained emotions bubbling to the surface as she stood helplessly contemplating her position.

Wyldon waited for the rush of anger or embarrassment, but it never came. All he felt was disappointment. He had defended the girl from the gossips, knowing she had never once broken his open door rules throughout her years as a page, and had lost friends in the process. Some people couldn't understand Wyldon's devotion to the truth, but he wasn't about to lie just to tarnish a reputation that he'd always considered spotless. And Owen- he had given the boy permission to marry his little girl, and now this. The loneliness of war was harsh and unrelenting, and he understood, even if he could never approve; they had been in Scanra together, almost a year ago to the day, and it was always easier to forget then to remember. But he had thought that they were stronger than that, that Owen's love for Margarry and Kel's knowledge of the power of her example meant more to them. He had never once been unfaithful to Vivienne, not once in all the long nights that his duty took him far from home.

"Go Owen." The command was steady, curt, leaving no window open for argument. Gossip spread like wildfire in a camp this small, and Kel's lack of presence in her tent had already caused an uproar. The men would be quick to notice who else was missing, and news of Kel and Owen's indiscretion would be on everyone's lips as soon as the battle was won. There was no time to think, not with the enemy bearing down upon them. Owen had run off, finally having learned when there was no use in arguing after four years of hard lessons. So Wyldon draped his cloak over Kel's shoulders and seized her hand, pulling her back towards the center of the camp where her tent and her armor waited. They would deal with the consequences later, and at least the fool of a girl had had the sense to keep her sword.

The battle was quick and clean and over before most of the men knew it began, the few minor scrapes and single deep slash wound well within Neal's scope of treatment. No, the real excitement among the men was the news that their married Commander was sleeping with the Lady Knight, once his student and many years his junior. Clearly her reputation for modesty was a fabrication, though they had always heard that Wyldon was a family man through and through.

***

Wyldon was startled awake by the rustling of his tent flap, and then Kel was before him, the remnants of a blush still coloring her cheeks. It was indiscreet of course, having a young woman in his tent during the darkest hour of the night, but at this point it really didn't matter anyway; the damage was already done. He opened his mouth to speak but she held up her hand, stopping him.

"I'm sorry." That was all she said, two simple words, but the power of her pent-up emotions made them so much more- an acknowledgment of fault, a plea for forgiveness, a cry for help and for love but most of all a question. She wanted to know why he had done it, but he couldn't tell her; he still wasn't quite sure himself. It would have killed Margarry, who loved Owen with her whole heart; and it would have killed Owen, whom he had already begun to consider as his son without really meaning to, since there was no denying that the boy really did care for his youngest daughter in a way that would make any father proud. In reality, though, he hadn't been thinking of either of them when he had made his sacrifice, knowing how much it would hurt his wife, his daughters, his friends and his reputation. It was Keladry, all Keladry and only Keladry. She had looked so vulnerable in that moment, she who was always so strong, and he would have done anything to protect her, to keep her safe.

"I'm disappointed in you". That was all he said, but from the look of pain on her face he might as well have stabbed her in the heart with his dagger. He felt a moment of pleasure in the power of his opinion- did she really care that much about his approval- mixed with a twinge of regret for the hurt he had caused her, however necessary it was. She got up to leave, shaking slightly, just a confused and wounded child, lost and far from home. Whatever she had been looking for with Owen, she hadn't found it, or it had been just a fleeting moment of peace that had long since crumbled away. There were shadows beneath her eyes that hinted at a hidden turmoil, something eating her away from the inside, making her a different girl than the principled, stubborn warrior he had come to admire. It was the war that had taken her away from them, and he was determined to get her back.

She was nearly at the door when he grabbed her hand, feeling the flash of warmth from her touch. She gave a slight squeeze in surprise, but didn't try to pull away. He wouldn't make love to her- he had made a promise long ago, one that he couldn't break, even for her- but there were other ways to care for someone, and right now she needed a father more than a lover. So he simply held her through the long night, reminding her that she wasn't alone and chasing the nightmares away when she began to drown in the past.

The watch sentry called an hour before dawn as he looked down at Keladry, sleeping peacefully at last with his arm over her shoulder and her head resting on his chest. He should wake her up- the men would be moving about soon, it was sure to cause a scene- but he could hardly bare to take away what was likely the first good sleep she'd had in weeks. As he pulled away slowly she sighed softly and tightened her grip, subconsciously keeping him close. So Wyldon settled back down to watch over her once more, knowing that it didn't really matter; they were already the talk of the camp, so why not make it worth it for once and prove the rumors true?


End file.
